


the sea it rolls and rolls

by kurgaya



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drabble, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nakamaship, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:43:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5531405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come morning there's no reason talk about it, but there's still an empty mug waiting in the sink to be washed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sea it rolls and rolls

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://onepiece-ficathon.dreamwidth.org/1041.html?thread=8209#cmt8209) prompt for the one piece ficathon.

Blankets roil around him; the hammock, a sea swathed in darkness, ripples and rolls as he lurches into awakening. Breath wails from between cracked, yearning lips, the first sound of reality thundering in his ears, and Sanji lays heaving for a moment, staring sightless into the gloom of the ship. Sweat drips into his eyes, forcing him to blink, and slowly the men's quarters tiptoes towards him from the shadows, walls, cupboards, and the blissful ignorance of his crewmates' sleeping limbs approaching with uneasy motions.

Usopp emits a terrible snore from the hammock below, but Sanji just about manages a sigh.

"Dammit," he whispers, scrubbing a hand through his fringe. Insipid, daffodil-yellow strands of hair stick of his skin, and his hand is shaking, Sanji notes, just as his lip won't cease its quivering with every stuttering, gasping breath.

Uncurling his legs from where they are locked against his chest, the cook searches the darkness for something to ground him. Sleep will not come easily now, but with a day promising adventure and no small amount of chaos ahead, sleep will have to come. He is exhausted, but he is not tired, and Sanji curses again as sickness churns inside of his stomach, desperately scanning the room for something obscure, solid, and entirely  _safe_  from being associated with the thick, drowning hunger gnawing at his insides.

He seeks Luffy's beloved hat, and hates himself for a second when he doesn't find it.

 _Luffy's on the night-watch_ , Sanji thinks madly.  _That, or he's raiding my kitchen while I sleep._

Except he's not sleeping now, is he? So maybe it wouldn't hurt to go and check...

He pitches himself out of the hammock with little of his usual grace, and pads barefoot through the room. The Sunny rocks beneath him, a typically comforting sway, but now it only serves to roll the uneasy feeling in his gut, swirling it round and round and round. Groaning, Sanji fumbles around for a night-gown and yanks it tight around his skinny -  _too_  skinny - frame, and then makes for the kitchen to locate the wayward captain.

Lamplight flickers beneath the gallery door when he approaches, but Sanji knows that Luffy is dumb enough to reveal himself while sneaking through the ship. Rolling eyes heavy with the sights of his dreams, Sanji doesn't give further thought to the uninvited guest within his kitchen, slipping in through the door with half a mind to yell at the gluttonous captain, and half a mind to simply stare the stupid idiot into a guilty, blubbering mess.

So engrossed in their own thoughts as both crew members are, when the door slams shut with a deafening  _crack_ , Sanji and Nami rocket equal distances into the air.

"Wha - Sanji-kun!" the navigator berates, frantically tidying the many maps and inkwells that scatter the table. Beside her, a lone lamp illuminates her careful work, and she blinks at him through a tangle of untamed tangerine hair.

"Sheesh, I thought you were Luffy," she says, laughter in her tone. Shaking her head, she doesn't give his presence in the kitchen a second thought, promptly returning to the unfinished chart spread lovingly sketched out before her.

That is, until Sanji wheezes out "So - so did I" in a voice that must betray his confusion, his wandering grasp on reality, for then Nami jerks back up again, focusing entirely on the skeletal silhouette he casts in front of the door.

"Are you okay?" she asks, brushing hair away from her face as if to see him better.

Never wanting to make her worry (make anybody worry, really), Sanji nods. "Yes, Nami-san," he says, but when she continues to stare at him, he realises that he has yet to move away from the door.

"Oh, um." He edges towards the kitchen counter with the halting motions befitting a three-legged mouse, and then adds a breathless apology without knowing why.

Nami puts down her brush and screws the lid of the inkwell back on tight. Sanji cringes at the sound, biting his lip to prevent doing anything else as  _dumb_  as interrupting her work, but still manages something of a squeak in surprise when she pushes away from the table and makes to stand.

"Please don't stop on my account, Nami-san," he blurts, aborting a futile reach towards her. She walks around the table as if she hasn't heard him, and Sanji hastens to explain. "I - I didn't mean -"

"How'd you take your tea?" Nami asks, peering at the oven for a second before flicking the stove on.

Sanji blinks, snaps his jaw shut, and then glances around the gallery to see who else has just walked in.

"Sanji," Nami says, sighing his name with none of her usual fancy. It is such a firm beckoning that Sanji whirls towards her, the tie of his gown slipping undone as he rushes to answer her call.

She waves a carton of cream at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Err," Sanji says dumbly, completely thrown. Spying her expression, he adds "I don't usually drink caffeine before bed?" in an attempt to clarify, the words slipping out in a wobbling, perplexed breath.

" _How do you take your tea_ , Sanji."

"Cream and sugar please - just one," he replies, and then when Nami nods and continues preparing the tea, the realisation that she is in his kitchen  _slaps_  Sanji in the face. "But wait - I can do it!"

"No you can't. Sit down."

"But -"

"Sit your arse down."

He sits. Granted, it is more of a  _crumple_  into the chair rather than a sit, but when somebody in the room has grown a second head and he isn't sure who it is, Sanji doubts the mechanics matter.

For a long moment, the sound of the water boiling is all the conversation between them. Nami makes the occasional noise as she clatters about, searching for spoons, tea leaves, and sugar, but Sanji is silent at the table, perched awkwardly opposite the navigator's beautiful work. The lamplight flickers undeterred, a miniature amber sun burning solely for their desires, and Sanji finds himself watching the candle for no real reason, appreciating its tiny, eternal dance.

He must drift for a moment, a second, a minute or two, for when he fazes back into the sounds of the Sunny, Nami is seated back in her chair. Concentration seemingly absorbed by her maps once again, she doesn't so much as glance at him as she unscrews the inkwell, and Sanji feels a knot of tension loosening just watching her delve into the realms of something she loves.

There is a cup of tea by his hand, sweet and steaming and waiting for him to enjoy. Sanji scoops it up, curling his hands around the ceramic, and blows softly across the surface. The warmth of the mug staves off some of his chill; his hands cease their shivering, and his skin reddens into a healthier, pink glow. He takes a sip, and gradually the sea tempesting in his stomach quells and rolls away.

When he finishes the cup, Nami pours him another.

She says  _drink up_  as if that is all he needs to hear, and he says  _all right_  as if that is gratitude enough for the questions she isn't asking, and the answers she is still willing to give.

(It is, and it is, and come morning there's no reason talk about it, but there's still an empty mug waiting in the sink to be washed).

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
